


I've Got No Soul To Sell

by kissesfromkrug



Series: Travel The World And The Seven Seas [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: (i think), Anal Sex, Creepy, Horror, M/M, Possession, Topping from the Bottom, Transformation, everything is not what it seems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 08:51:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11437395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissesfromkrug/pseuds/kissesfromkrug
Summary: All Dylan wanted was a nice, relaxing day at home with his boyfriend where they could do nothing for as long as they wanted.





	I've Got No Soul To Sell

**Author's Note:**

> Not for profit, fictional; feel free to point out any typos. :)
> 
> Idk about you, but I would read this in the morning - or when it's light outside, at least. I'm never gonna sleep again if I keep this up.
> 
> Title taken from "Closer" by Nine Inch Nails, which *ugh* such a good song for filthy story writing. I'll definitely use it as inspiration for another fic. ;)

Dylan wakes up in an empty bed, arms blindly flailing out for a missing Connor. He rubs his hand over the cold sheets, smoothing them down as he frowns in disappointment. He was looking forward to a morning of lazy kisses and maybe a blowjob here or there.

Oh well. At least there's bacon.

Dylan slowly walks down the hall, hearing the pop of the bacon in a pan grow ever-louder until he finally arrives in the kitchen. Connor stands at the stove wearing plaid pajama pants that hang low on his hips and nothing else.

Dylan smirks at the pleasant sight, silently making his way around and flinging his arms around Connor's shoulders. "Morning, babe," he mumbles into Connor's neck, kissing it as Connor chokes out a surprised curse.

"Ugh, don't do that, I could've burnt the bacon," Connor sighs, but Dylan only laughs.

"I think the real concern is that you're not wearing a shirt right now."

"Oh, you don't mind, do you?" Connor asks innocently, turning to face him. "Should I go grab one?"

"Safety is key, but I like the view," Dylan chirps predictably.

"Knew it."

"Shut up," Dylan giggles, ruffling Connor's hair and asking, "So, you gonna make pancakes too?"

"No." Dylan gasps in mock-horror.

" _No_? But why not, babe? I want some pancakes to go with my bacon."

"Nope," Connor says stubbornly, turning to face the stove once more. "Just bacon."

"Davo, just make me some goddamn pancakes," Dylan insists, tugging on his boyfriend's arm insistently. "You're always saying that I burn them, just show me how to do it. I'll eat the bacon too, I promise, I love bacon too, you know that."

Connor just sighs and says, "We don't have any blueberries left for them though."

"I don't _like_ them with blueberries, I like chocolate chips." Okay, now Dylan is _really_ whining, but he doesn't even care. He wants to eat chocolate chip pancakes and lounge around the house with his adorable boyfriend who's currently being way more stubborn than is appropriate for this situation. Dylan expected no resistance.

Dylan wraps his arms around Connor's waist, chin resting on his shoulder. "Please?" He tries, going for the innocent approach. "I really like pancakes and I really like you so would you please make me some before I die of hunger?"

"I don't think you'll die," Connor chuckles, poking the sizzling bacon with some rubbery kitchen tool. "But I'll make them. If we have chocolate chips."

"We do, I know we do, we just got some the other day," Dylan says, releasing Connor and sliding across the tile floor to the fridge. He rummages around in the all the drawers and shelves, coming up empty. Well, not _entirely_ empty. "Who likes white chocolate chips? I swore we had the normal ones." He holds up the bag a bit confusedly, and Connor smiles a bit, staring at them fondly.

"I do."

"Since when?"

"Since a long time?" Connor answers, raising an eyebrow as he somehow manages to get the bacon onto a napkin-covered plate. "Toss me 'em."

"No no no, you are _not_ making _my_ pancakes with these things in them," Dylan says, shoving the bag back in the fridge. "Uh-uh."

"Hey."

"No! Normal chocolate chips or no chips," Dylan says, wagging a finger at Connor as he shuts the fridge door behind him. "No."

Connor frowns, asking him a bit impatiently, "Do you want pancakes or not?"

"Did you listen to _anything_ I said in the last 10 minutes?"

Connor just shrugs. "'Course I did."

"Either make me my breakfast or don't make it, okay?" Dylan says, feeling a tiny bit exasperated and very hungry. "I'm gonna take a shower, and then maybe I'll do something for you if you're nice." Dylan throws a spontaneous filthy smirk at Connor, which usually makes him blush, but he only smirks back. Dylan is a bit stunned, but quickly makes his way to the bathroom and twists the knob on for the hot water.

"Don't go in the big cabinet in the bathroom, I haven't cleaned it out yet!" Connor calls down the hallway, and Dylan frowns.

"Why? I need a towel!"

"Just use my old one, that green one by the sink!"

"Okay!" He needs a fresh towel, of _course_ he's going to go in the cabinet. Connor doesn't need to know that, though.

The second he opens the door, he wished he hadn't.

There's a body slumped inside the cabinet on top of a few towels, face bruised and bloody, clothes torn and a cloth stuffed in its mouth. The hands are tied behind the figure's back, and probably ankles too, and Dylan can pick out gashes from under the tears in the gray shirt. The figure is scrunched up into an incredibly small space, probably two by two feet. The cabinet was not designed to hide people.

However, none of this is the worst of it.

It's Connor's body.

" _Oh my god_ ," Dylan chokes out, stumbling back. Connor shifts - thank Jesus _fuck_ \- scrunching up his nose and opening his swollen eyes. "Holy fuck."

Connor just stares at him, face contorted in obvious pain. He doesn't even try to speak, and Dylan gets out, "But if he's Davo - but  _you're_ Davo - which one is-?" He trails off, leaving the word "real" hanging in midair.

Connor shifts, dropping one shoulder. "Wait - this is a dream, nothing is real, this has gotta be fake, I need to fucking wake up, oh my god," Dylan says, purposely stubbing his toe on the corner of the sink and barely holding back a curse. "It can't-"

Nope. Still awake.

Connor wiggles his shoulder and finally attempts a sound. All Dylan hears is "mmffhggm", but he thinks he gets the point. "Are you _sure_ you're the real Davo?" Kind of a stupid question, but-

"Mhm," Connor nods, looking to his shoulder with intent. His hazel eyes would be wide if they weren't almost swelled shut, cuts framing his eyes and mouth, and Dylan feels a rush of anger for the not-Connor.

Not-Connor. Fuck. And fuck him, too.

"Should I get you out now or-" Connor shakes his head vigorously, making frightened noises of dissent. "Then what do I do?" Connor heaves a sigh, breathing shallowly through his nose. He shakes his head again, less energetic this time and even more hopeless. "I can't just _leave_ you here, babe."

Connor squeezes his eyes shut and shudders. He finally nods, squirming a bit and tugging at the restraints on his hands, limbs awkwardly folded into the too-small cabinet. It's only now that Dylan notices the tear tracks streaking down his dirty face.

"I'll get us out of this," Dylan promises with a fierce determination. "I'll save you, Davo, I promise." Connor shivers again, going limp against the inner wall of the cabinet. Dylan fights off the overwhelming urge to vomit, bile rising unwanted in his throat, and slowly shuts the doors. He stands with his back to the cabinet as he faces the mirror.

He doesn't know if he can pull off normal with Not-Connor, but he'll try his damn hardest; anything to save his Connor - his _real_ Connor.

Dylan strips, albeit with shaking hands, and climbs into the steaming shower. He's just finished lathering up his hair when there's a knock at the door. He freezes.

"You in there?" Connor asks - Dylan can't call him Not-Connor, not even in his head. It'll mess him up even more.

"Um, yeah?" Dylan replies, brain helpfully reminding him that his Connor is, in fact, not on the other side of the bathroom door. It's someone else, some stranger he doesn't know.

Or maybe he - it? - is not even a person at all.

Dylan shivers violently despite the hot water, letting it wash the suds out of his hair, and Connor opens the door. "Can I come in?"

"Did you make my food yet?" Dylan retorts, but Connor only laughs. Dylan frowns at that.

Connor only laughs like that when Dylan does something incredibly stupid or actually has a good joke. Not for these sorts of things. Dylan has to really work for a good Connor-laugh.

"I'm working on it," Connor answers, and through the fogged up glass he can see Connor stripping off his sleep pants. Oh god.

"Working on it? Does that mean you aren't done with my pancakes?" Dylan asks, stepping aside as Connor joins him in the shower. He not-so-subtly looks over Connor's body, but nothing seems different. Not a thing.

"Maybe." Connor grins at him, noticing his roaming eyes and leaning up for a kiss - and hey, the height difference is still the same. Maybe the Connor in the cabinet isn't the real one after all... "Why you thinking so hard?" Connor asks when he pulls back. "Don't hurt yourself."

"Fuck off." Connor reaches past him to grab the shampoo - Dylan's shampoo, interestingly enough - and squirts some onto his hand.

"You didn't go in the cabinet, did you?" Dylan's brain freezes for a second, but he shakes his head before Connor can notice his hesitation.

"No, why?"

"You're stubborn like that, I'm surprised you listened," Connor comments, and Dylan watches as he turns away and runs his long fingers through his soaked golden brown hair. Dylan is so goddamn confused.

"Whaddaya got in there?" Dylan asks, aiming for flirtatious. He's gotta be normal, gotta be normal, gotta be normal... "Some... _toys_?" Connor chuckles and lightly elbows him in the gut.

"No, you idiot," he says easily, and Dylan frowns. He's gotta find a way to make him break. Or prove that he's the real deal.

"Then what's in it, Davo?" Connor turns around and sets his hands on Dylan's hips, looking up into his eyes. Dylan feels his stomach roil as he stares back into Connor's electric blue eyes. Blue eyes. Wait a second.

"It's a _secret_ , babe," Connor murmurs, leaning in and biting at the skin of Dylan's shoulder. "I'll show you later."

"Ooh, exciting." Dylan forces away his inhibitions - or at least hides them in the back of his head - and grabs Connor's hips, rubbing his thumbs over the bone as he looks over Connor's face. The eyes, the eyes, the only things weird are the eyes.

Speaking of Connor's eyes, they're dark and wide as he demands, "Touch me. Now."

"I am, Davo," Dylan smirks, leaning in to press open-mouthed kisses to his neck.

" _Touch_ me." Connor's expression is darkened with lust, eyes fully black by the time Dylan pulls back, fingernails of one hand digging into his skin as he trails his other down Dylan's chest.

"Never seen it before?" Dylan teases.

"Never wanted it this bad," Connor breathes, and okay, maybe it's not the truth - but it could be, with the way he carefully feels up Dylan like it's their first time. Dylan almost holds his breath, closing his eyes and letting Connor touch what he likes.

All of a sudden, the water is being shut off and he's being dragged back to the bedroom without a towel. Fuck. He forgot a towel.

Connor doesn't seem to want or need one, at any rate.

Dylan holds on tight as Connor pushes their lips together, tipping them backwards onto the bed in the master bedroom. Connor arranges Dylan's limbs the way he wishes when he finally pulls away, leaving Dylan breathless and at Connor's mercy.

"C'mon, c'mon," Dylan pants, groaning at the feel of Connor's slick body sliding over his. Connor swallows his noises and straddles his lap, hands on his chest as he grinds down in a slow, sinuous movement that has Dylan squirming underneath him.

"Wait for me," Connor whispers, and before Dylan can say a thing, Connor's got the lube in his hand, squeezing some onto his fingers. "Watch and wait, 'kay, babe?" Dylan nods quickly, biting his lip and unwilling to protest. His mind still flickers to the image of Connor beaten bloody and tied up in the cabinet.

"Lemme touch," Dylan blurts, running his fingers down Connor's abs and rubbing over the creases between his hips and groin. Connor bites back a groan and slicks up two fingers, and Dylan's breath hitches as Connor plants one foot on a bed and slides his fingers up into himself. "Babe, I-"

"Just wait," Connor says breathily, Dylan obediently watching in awe as he easily stretches himself, soon adding in a third finger and spreading his legs even more over Dylan's waist.

Connor never usually puts on a show, but now he's really giving it to Dylan, inviting mouth looking red and so very wet, head tipped back and neck exposed. Dylan would try to lean up and kiss it, except for the fact that Connor has one hand firmly planted on Dylan's chest for stability as he fucks himself on his fingers.

"Oh, fuck," Dylan breathes, hands tightening on Connor's hips. Every time Connor rocks back, Dylan's already-aching dick brushes Connor's straining thighs, drawing out little breathy gasps while Connor merely sighs in pleasure. "Shit, c'mon, babe, I wanna-"

"I got it," Connor says, "I'm good, I'm good - you gonna be good for me?" Dylan is taken aback, but he nods frantically when he gets his thoughts back in order. Connor or no, he's hard as fuck, and he won't turn down this rare opportunity to let Connor ride him to kingdom come and back.

"Please." Dylan's voice is rough, but Connor's hands don't shake as he rolls on the condom and stares down into Dylan's eyes. _Blue eyes, blue eyes, blue eyes_ , his brain chants faintly, but Dylan couldn't give any less of a shit.

Connor sucks in his bottom lip as he finally grabs onto the base of Dylan's cock, slicking it up and adjusting himself over it. They both gasp at the feeling of the head slipping inside, and Dylan's eyes slide shut as Connor rocks back on it. "Oh my _god_ , more, please," he says, hands almost unconsciously sliding around to hold Connor open.

"Yeah, just like that," Connor breathes, getting in a better position for his knees and sinking down the whole way until his ass is flush with Dylan's hips. He stares down at Dylan, who's shaking with the effort of not moving, Connor's tight heat always having knocked the wind out of him - and now is no exception.

" _Please_." Connor shakes his head, saying,

"Stay still."

"Or what?"

"Or I leave," Connor says, definitely sounding way too put-together for this situation.

"Okay, okay, fine, just do it, I'm ready, I promise," Dylan insists when he's processed Connor's words, too far gone and way too hard to protest. Connor grins and pushes himself back up on his knees, establishing a slow rhythm that has Dylan whining in minutes.

"Shh, babe, I got you," Connor murmurs, Dylan still not entirely used to having a tight, slick warmth envelop him like this. He never usually gets this, both of them usually preferring it the other way where Connor gets to make Dylan a bumbling mess on the end of his cock. Well, Dylan's still going to be a mess, so long as Connor keeps this up.

"Oh, oh god, oh shit, come on, faster," Dylan begs as Connor's nails scratch over Dylan's chest just the way he likes, just the right amount of pressure to sting, but not enough to really hurt. "C'mon, babe, do it, fuck yourself on my cock, c'mon."

Connor drops his head between his shoulders, swearing softly as he firmly plants his hands on Dylan's stomach and pushes down hard. Dylan moans loudly, Connor rocking back even faster and with more intent than ever.

"'M close, 'm gonna come, gonna come," Dylan whines, fingers digging into the meat of Connor's ass to hold him open. Dylan's thighs tremble with the increasingly difficult task of keeping still, while Connor's strain to keep up the rhythm he'd set. "Davo!"

"Shh, I got you, babe," Connor gets out in a strained voice, eyes finally fluttering shut. "You can move."

"Fuck, thank you, god, please-" Dylan babbles as he spreads his legs a bit more and shoves up into Connor as he grinds down, knowing he's hit the spot when Connor gasps and curses violently. "Yeah? You like that?" Dylan doesn't even know why or how he's still speaking.

"Fuck, yes, you know it, mm," Connor groans, "Yeah, yeah, keep going, keep-" He whines high in the back of his throat as Dylan pinches the curve of his ass, tightening around Dylan's cock, and Dylan thrusts up in a few last uncoordinated movements before coming with a loud groan, vision whiting out for a few seconds as spots dance under his eyelids.

"Keep - keep going, yeah," he gets out, Connor slowing the steady rocking of his hips as Dylan goes soft. "I want you - I wanna see you - see you come on my cock."

Connor bites his lip and leans down for a sloppy kiss, eyes still squeezed shut. His cock is heavy and red between his legs, and Dylan wraps a hand around it just to hear Connor moan. "Keep going," he murmurs, feeling the oversensitive prickles under his skin begin to rise as he strokes Connor in earnest.

"Oh, _fuck_ ," Connor breathes wholeheartedly, eyes snapping open as he pushes down hard one last time and comes all over his flushed chest and Dylan's hand. His blue eyes are wide as he gasps for air, tipping over and cuddling up by Dylan's side. Dylan knows that Connor hates being messy, but he'll never refuse a good post-coital cuddle.

"I'll clean you up," Dylan says after a while of silence, slowly swinging his legs out of bed.

"Use the little blue towel that's hanging up," Connor murmurs, and Dylan nods with a tight smile. If he didn't already know why Connor wasn't letting him in the cabinet, he'd be mighty suspicious by now.

When he reaches the bathroom, he stands in front of the sink mirror and clenches the edges of the counter so tight his knuckles turn white. 

He should be loose and relaxed from a nice morning orgasm, but he can't shake the thought that Connor is _right there_ , looking beaten half to death and shoved in a tiny cabinet. He can't stop thinking about it, but it's the one thing he shouldn't think about, not if he wants the real Connor back.

When he thought "fuck Not-Connor" earlier, this was not what he was intending.

Dylan resists the urge to check the cabinet again, grabbing the little blue hand towel and drenching it in hot water. He pads back to find Connor still laying flat on his back, smiling sleepily up at him. "Uh-uh, mister, you are making me my pancakes after this," Dylan says as Connor yawns, shivering at the wet towel on his chest.

"Pancakes?"

"Yeah. Pancakes. Make me pancakes and I'll blow you after breakfast," Dylan baits, and Connor grins. Dylan tries not to think about how loud Connor was. He's never that mouthy, not even on the rare instances he bottoms.

"Okay." Dylan leans down and kisses his pink lips, soaking up the familiar soft, wet feeling of Connor's mouth. Familiar. Hm.

Dylan pulls back to look over Connor's chest, eyes quickly shifting across his shoulders. He freezes as he stares at Connor's left collarbone.

No scar.

He breathes in deeply to steady himself, but at least he knows. At least he finally knows for real who is who. Or what. You can wear blue contacts (he thought about it - maybe Connor's just trying to trick him, maybe it's some sort of elaborate prank), but you can't eliminate a scar like that.

"You okay?" The concern in Connor's voice and worry in his eyes is all so distinctly _Connor_ , but Dylan can't help but flinch.

"Yeah," Dylan gets out, rubbing his thumb over where the mark would be. There's a small indent under the normally obviously scarred tissue - a reason Connor doesn't really ever go shirtless - but all Dylan feels is smooth skin. He presses kisses all the way up Connor's neck, from his fingers to the underside of Connor's jaw. "Just love you."

"Just?" Connor smiles. Dylan sighs and kisses his lips one last time.

"It's never a 'just' with you. You know that." Connor ducks his head and tugs Dylan down, pushing his face into Dylan's neck and breathing out a long sigh. "So no breakfast yet, huh?"

"Give me a break," Connor half-complains, but there's amusement in his voice. "Besides, I told you not to look in the cabinet." Dylan tenses up immediately, not moving a muscle as Connor scoots back to look at him. "Right? You heard me?"

Dylan lets out a small whimper, and Connor sighs regretfully as he sits up. Dylan squeezes his eyes shut and prepares for the worst, thinking about the fact that Connor hasn't said his name once since he woke up.

All he wanted were some chocolate chip pancakes. 

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure if the tags are appropriate, just let me know. Excuse them. Please. They're all over the place just like this story.


End file.
